


Young Gods

by ifinkufreaky



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sorry Not Sorry, Threesome - F/M/M, i better still tag it, just remember canon did it first, pretty fucking close to a threeway but not entirely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 20:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9676004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/pseuds/ifinkufreaky
Summary: Ivar and Hvitserk come racing back to you all hot from the battlefield and have an extremely hard time with the concept of taking turns. Post season 4.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Look, Hirst started this. If it's somehow “the Viking way” in his verse for two brothers to share the same woman, you better believe I'm gonna fucking run with that. If there's anything better than one lover, it's a matched pair of them.

You are standing outside the cabin you share with Ivar, on the edge of the army’s encampment. When you found the abandoned building near the place your advancing forces were to make camp, Ivar had claimed it immediately for you two, and no one saw fit to argue. You are trying not to worry as you hang laundry outside the little cottage; the warriors went off to battle this morning, and the impending clash was promising to be a bloody one.

Whoops and shouts from the direction of the main camp let you know that the warriors have returned, and your heart relaxes at their tone, jubilant and victorious. Hvitserk, your other lover, reaches you first. He comes barreling between the tents, shouting your name, grinning and coated in red and black. It looks as if he has run straight from the battlefield to you. It would not be the first time he did that. Nothing makes fierce Hvitserk’s heart sing like swinging his blade through his enemies. You imagine for a moment being some English woman, seeing this bloodied madman charging down upon you. Your heart starts racing. You know what he is going to do when he reaches you, and your body is already beginning to ready itself.

Hvitserk wraps his gore-plastered arms around your waist and swings you off-balance into an intense embrace. He presses his bloody face into yours with a wild smile and you relax into him, knowing the casualties must not be too great; he would not be this cheerful and amorous if anyone important were slain or seriously hurt. Hvitserk’s lips are metallic and salty as he presses them to yours, but you don’t mind. You have come to love the taste of victory on your tongue. You open your mouth to him as he digs his fingers into your hips and pulls them against his own, and you feel that he is already hard and ready for you. Battle does this to a strong Viking man, and you absolutely love it. His greedy hands are plucking at your clothes and you wonder if he is going to try and bend you over right here in the yard, he seems so inflamed.

You hear the sound of thundering hooves and look up to see Ivar’s chariot pulling up to your cabin, going much too fast. He saws at the reins to force the horse to stop just a few paces away from you. “That was a dirty trick, Hvitserk,” Ivar bellows, but his lips cannot help but curl into a smile. Ivar is as blood-soaked as his brother, though streaked with a little less mud. He runs one hand through his hair as he fixes his brilliant blue eyes on you, still locked in Hviterk’s arms. “Y/n, come congratulate me. Our victory was even more thorough than I anticipated.”

Though Ivar was the youngest son of Ragnar, he had risen to an unacknowledged position of first among equals in the command of this portion of the Great Army, those warriors who had stayed in England to keep raiding. His force of will and his intelligence in strategizing are undeniable, and no one ever quite ends up challenging his wishes. His rank is nothing official, but you can feel it in the way that Hvitserk stops himself from pulling you closer to him, reluctantly forces his fingers to release you so that you can go to Ivar.

You love both the brothers, and they are usually quite amicable about you splitting your time between them. When Hvitserk was the only one of the Ragnarssons to stay in England and follow Ivar, their bond grew closer and they seemed to almost enjoy finding themselves in love with the same woman.

Today, perhaps, they might be finding the arrangement less than ideal. Hvitserk’s fingers trail through yours as you leave his side to step up to Ivar’s chariot. The dark-haired Ragnarsson opens his arm to you, beckoning you to climb inside. As soon as both your feet are on the boards he is pulling you against him. Ivar’s eyes gleam with lust at you through the sheet of blood coating his face, and you can’t help but tremble just a little at how fearsome he looks. He buries his fingers in the hair at the back of your head, tugs to tilt your chin up with just a touch of cruelty, then lays his mouth over yours.

Ivar kisses like a conqueror, and the first one is always the best. His tongue lathes across yours and a chill sweeps through your body. His arms pull at you, drawing your shoulder into the tight space between his chest and the leather-padded cushion that keeps him upright in the chariot, bracing your body as he lets loose the passion he hadn’t quite spent on the battlefield.

You feel another body behind you. Hvitserk has not given up; he has climbed onto the chariot as well and grabbed you around the hips again. “You got your congratulation, Ivar. I’ll forgive the interruption, but y/n and I were in the middle of something, if you hadn’t noticed.” Hvitserk has not lost his erection, and he is rubbing it into the cleft of your ass now.

Ivar breaks off from kissing you to look up slowly at Hvitserk from under heavy brows. “Do you really think I am going to give her back to you now?” he asks, breathing hard. You try not to get nervous; he is still smiling at his brother, so far.

“I did get here first,” Hvitserk points out. He has not stopped grinding himself against you, and Ivar’s hand has found your breast, kneading slowly as he stares Hvitserk down. You should probably say something, but you are finding it very hard to think at this moment. Hvitserk’s hand wraps around your cheek, turning your face around to meet his lips again. You close your eyes and sink into both of them. You don’t actually care who wins this argument.

“That is only because you cheated,” you hear Ivar growl his next point as he pulls you closer to his, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist.

You gasp for air when Hvitserk releases your lips to speak. “I wasn’t going to be able to outrun a bloody _horse_ in a straight race,” Hvisterk says, gesturing to the animal still tethered to the little cart you are all standing on. The poor beast is blowing hard and sheened with sweat.

“You can have her when I am done,” Ivar announces, like that will be the end of the matter. He goes back to kissing you as if his brother is not there. His hands are rough and urgent as they scramble over your body.

“I’ll have her whenever I please,” Hvitserk shoots back, biting into your shoulder and starting to lift your skirts.

“No one is going to have me _out here_ ,” you twist your face away from Ivar’s to say, a good reason to stop them finally breaking through your panting arousal.

“That is true, y/n,” Ivar agrees quickly. “Why don’t you go inside, into _our house_ , and make yourself ready for me.” He relaxes his grip and lets you slide out from between the two of them. You are almost loathe to comply, even though it was your idea. Feeling both of your lovers pressed against you like that was such a rare pleasure. You are pretty certain, however, that it would have come to blows if you had let them go on that way for too long.

“Good idea,” you hear Hvitserk announce as you hop off the back of the chariot, “and I will go make sure that she is ready for you, Ivar.” The elder brother jumps down behind you and ushers you quickly through the doorway, with a hand on your back and a shit-eating grin.

It’s a low move, taking advantage of how long it will take Ivar to find someone to take care of his horse and then drag himself into to the cottage. But at this point your blood has gotten as hot as theirs, and selfishly you’re glad you are not going to have to wait alone for Ivar to come to you.

As soon as the door swings shut Hvitserk is upon you, covering your mouth with his and pressing you right up against the wall. “Y/n, I need you,” he is moaning, hands scrambling at the ties at the neck of your dress. You try frantically to help him loosen it enough to come off without ripping, though the thing is already so soiled from being pressed against bloody armor that you’re not exactly sure why you’re bothering. Hvitserk works the garment down to your waist, then gets distracted by your breasts, leaves the undressing half done in favor of plundering all that soft flesh with his mouth.

You free your arms from your bunched-up sleeves, leave the rest of the dress hanging off your hips. You lean your head back against the wall and enjoy the way Hvitserk twists and pulls at your nipples. You could tell him you’re already wet enough for him, but you’d rather savor the sweet teasing of his hands and lips for a while.

The door slams open and Ivar is dragging himself across the threshold. He must have waved someone down to take his horse almost immediately. His eyes fall on you and Hvitserk and his face twists sardonically, like he knew he could have expected nothing less from you two. He heaves one great sigh and then crawls over to the bed, starts to remove his armor. “I could use your help with this, y/n,” he calls, again pretending Hvitserk isn’t even there, isn’t sucking at your tits and fumbling with his pants.

You look over at Ivar as Hvitserk kisses up your neck, ignoring his brother right back. The darker Ragnarsson is glaring at you from under his brows, bright eyes pulling at you, promising terrible and wonderful things if you would just come over and help him out of his armor. Your cunt aches for him even as you grind against Hvitserk; his cock is out now and only the thin fabric of the dress rapidly slipping off your hips is keeping him out of you. You don’t want to have to make this decision. But it doesn’t feel right to just let Hvitserk fuck you while Ivar sits there watching.

“Hvitserk…” you say with a tone of both caution and apology. You hold your dress crumpled against your waist and try to slide out from between him and the wall.

Hvitserk wraps his large hand around the side of your neck and pulls you back toward him with an aggressive grunt. He glares urgently into your eyes through his blood-spattered face. You see almost all reason has left him; the bloodlust from battle and his more immediate lust for you are firmly in control of him at this moment.

“Ivar is _right there_ ,” you plead with him.

Hvisterk looks over at his brother, flexes his jaw in a dismissive, scoffing smile. He presses you back into the wall, armor digging into your exposed flesh, and scours your mouth with his tongue.

A moment later Hvitserk jerks and whips his head around; Ivar has thrown something at him. “At least let her come over and help me get this armor off, I can’t even sit back and rest like this.”

“Or maybe you wait outside until we are finished,” Hvitserk retorts.

“This is _my_ cabin, I get her first.”

You take advantage of the distraction to slip out of Hvitserk’s grip again, pulling your dress up to cover your chest as you scurry over to Ivar’s side. Ivar grabs you around the waist with a pleased little growl. He takes your hand and places it on the fasteners holding his armor that he can’t easily reach himself, then helps himself to two handfuls of your ass. His eyes are still locked on Hvitserk’s, like he is trying to push him out the door with just the force of his will.

You glance over at Hvitserk as you work quickly at Ivar’s straps; the fair-haired brother has slipped his cock back into his pants but he’s still holding it, panting as he stares at you. He does not look like he’s about to admit defeat.

It takes two hands to pull Ivar’s armored jerkin over his head, so you’re forced to let your dress fall around your waist again. Ivar pulls you into his lap before you even drop his heavy garment on the floor, nipping at your earlobe and then twisting your nipples with the practiced movements he knows drives you wild. Hvitserk is all passion and sloppy abandon, but Ivar makes love to you expertly, like he’s got something to prove.

“You can get the rest of your clothes off by yourself,” Hvitserk points out to his brother impatiently.

Ivar looks up, rolling his eyes. “Are you still here?”

“Let me keep her warm for you while you finish getting comfortable.”

You’re not about to let Ivar take you while Hvitserk is huffing and staring either; all you can think to do is keep delaying the inevitable until these two work it out amongst themselves. You kiss Ivar deeply but pull yourself off his lap at the same time. “He’s got a point, love,” you tell him in a low voice, then back up into Hvitserk’s arms.

Ivar narrows his eyes at you. He looks like he’s deciding whether to get angry or not.

“Neither of you is going to have me until you come to an agreement,” you announce, then gasp as Hvitserk grabs you underhanded from behind, fingers plunging directly between your legs, almost pressing right into you.

Hvitserk chuckles against your neck, pulling your back flush against his chest and wiggling the fingers that are held back only by the thin barrier of fabric still somehow hanging off your hips. Ivar’s eyes are glazing over and he’s staring at the way the peaks of your breasts are heaving as his brother makes you squirm against him. Your dark-haired lover bites his lip and starts working at the straps of his gauntlets. He must be in agreement with the plan.

Hvitserk strips the rest of your clothes off in one unexpected pull, displaying your full glory to Ivar’s heavy gaze for only a moment before pushing your back against the wall again and covering your body with his own. Hvitserk presses his dirty knee in between your bare thighs, forcing your legs apart so that he can slide his long fingers between your folds. “She is plenty warm already,” he informs Ivar, and wastes no time in thrusting two fingers inside you. “You had better hurry up or I will have to take her myself.”

“Don’t you dare,” Ivar warns from the bed. You close your eyes as Hvitserk grinds the heel of his hand against your clit, wraps one of your legs around his waist so he can open you and support you at the same time. His mouth covers yours in insistent kisses as you feel an exquisite pressure building rapidly toward release under his curling fingers and rocking hand.

Just before you think you might come, you hear Ivar’s voice calling your name. His tone is commanding, insistent. “Get back over here.”

You moan in frustration as Hvitserk’s hand slows. “She is almost—“ Hvitserk says.

“She doesn’t get to come yet,” Ivar says with finality.

Hvitserk always gives in to Ivar’s will. It is the reason they have been able to keep their armies together; it is how Ivar has been able to tolerate sharing you. And in this moment, you hate them both for it. Hvisterk slips his fingers out of you and starts guiding you silently over to Ivar’s bed. Your legs are weak and cramped from holding yourself up and open against the wall; Hvitserk just about has to carry you. Ivar’s upper body is bare now, that clean, well-toned expanse a shocking contrast to his blood-speckled face. He has shoved his pants down off his hips, and one hand is stroking idly over his full erection. He _does_ need you as badly as Hvitserk.

The elder Ragnarsson deposits you on your side next to Ivar, who immediately pulls you in against his chest for a deep, reconnecting kiss. One moment he is the cold and commanding Viking that makes your pussy clench with desire, and the next moment the earnest boy whose lips feel like your only true home. It is always this way, making love to Ivar.

You feel Hvitserk sliding into the bed at your back. Ivar notices too. He looks over your face at his brother’s with exasperated eyes. “You will not leave us alone until you have spilled your seed inside her, will you?”

Hvitserk responds only with his half-crazed grin. The one that always seems to deflect Ivar’s rages.

“I will allow you to have her first,” Ivar decides, surprising you. Then his lips twist up into a smirk of his own. “But only if she attends to me with her mouth, while you do it. I will not be kept waiting either.”

Hvitserk’s hands are wrapped around your waist, pulling your hips off the edge of the bed before you have even fully processed what they are talking about. Your face is sliding down toward Ivar’s cock, and he takes a fistful of hair at the back of your head to guide you. You end up with both feet on the ground and your belly pressed against the mattress, your head hovering over the dark curls at the base of Ivar’s cock.

“Lick it,” Ivar says, using both hands to scoop your hair out of the way so he can watch you. Hvitserk is fumbling with his armor behind you.

Ivar keeps a loose grip in your hair as you bend your head and drag your tongue heavily along his shaft, base to tip. You are rewarded with a deep groan as his hips curl up to meet you.

“Again,” Ivar commands, pushing your head to his base again.

Your next stroke is much sloppier, because about halfway through Hvitserk grabs your ass with both hands and spreads you wide open. “Are you ready for me, y/n? You look ready.” You push your hips back against his grip in response. You have been ready for Hvitserk since you saw him sprinting toward you in the yard. He brushes the head of his cock against you in one teasing swirl, then emits a groan that borders on a roar and starts pressing himself into you.

You’re not quite as wet as you thought but that only makes it better, Hvitserk’s progress agonizingly slow as he drags against your inner walls. You arch your neck on reflex, the pleasure is so sharp, but Ivar’s hands hold your head down and push your mouth over the tip of his weeping cock. Hvitserk starts pumping himself in and out of you and you’re afraid to take more than Ivar’s head between your lips.

“You could have chosen one of us, y/n,” Ivar says. “It might have been a little easier on you.”

You start to answer him but he takes the parting of your lips as invitation to press himself further into your mouth. Hvitserk shifts his grip to the front of your hips and starts pounding into you harder, keeping up a low, wordless growl that hasn’t really stopped since he first entered you. You know from experience that Hvitserk doesn’t last very long when he comes to you straight after battle, so you push back against him and try to enjoy this for all it’s worth. It’s rough but it’s deeply satisfying and your mouth’s not doing a very good job with Ivar’s cock anymore, but you’ll make it up to him later.

There is an amazing spot deep inside you and Hvitserk is managing to hit it over and over again from this position; you hum and moan over the prick in your mouth loudly enough to let him know he is doing something wonderful to you. Hvitserk pauses only momentarily to kick your legs apart, knowing that often helps line him up even better. It does. Your whole body is getting hot and tingly now; you wonder if Ivar would like to feel Hvitserk make you scream an orgasm around the head of his cock. It’s getting to be too late for that not to happen.

“Give it to me, y/n,” Hvitserk urges, and you realize he has somehow been able to hold his own release back to wait for yours. He pulses just a little more savagely and all that glorious tension explodes out of your core, a wildfire that consumes your entire being. After the first spasm you roll your head against Ivar’s stomach, unable to hold yourself up as you let the continuing waves of pleasure take you. Hvitserk keeps going for a surprising number of frantic strokes; performance anxiety must be holding him back a little. By the time he’s spasming his own release into you, your cunt has already re-fired and feels ready for another round. Which is very fortunate, considering your circumstance.

Hvitserk slaps your ass lazily as he pulls himself from your body, emitting an exhausted and satisfied sigh. He drops to his back and spreads out on the floor as you turn your attention back to Ivar.

The younger Ragnarsson’s face is flushed and he is almost gasping for breath himself. He did like seeing you like that. You come up on your hands and knees next to him on the bed, swaying seductively as you bend in to kiss him.

“No more waiting,” Ivar says against your mouth. “I need you on my cock _now._ ”

You smile as you throw your leg over Ivar’s hip, his greedy hands scrambling to line you up faster. You hover yourself over him, unable to resist teasing him just a little longer while you still have a modicum of control.

Ivar points his cock straight up for you with one hand, and the other clamps onto the back of your neck like iron. “Now, y/n,” he says, and starts forcing you down over him.

Ivar’s length squeezes into your swollen and already-abused pussy as he smiles at you with a possessive curl to his lip. “There you are, love,” he coos as you settle over him. He reaches up and strokes your face, then pulls you down so he can whisper in your ear. “Now, I am going to fuck you until you can’t even remember his name.”

One hand keeps your face close to his while the other digs into your ass. Ivar starts to buck his hips and you can’t help but scream into his face as he pounds so suddenly at your overstimulated flesh. Ivar’s only response is to laugh and pull you even closer. “Whose pussy is this?” he asks in a low growl.

You’re not going to answer that but in this moment it is absolutely Ivar’s, to do with as he pleases. His words turn the deep ache into pure ecstasy, and you start moving yourself along with his rhythm.

“That’s right, y/n,” Ivar coaxes, “sit up and fuck me.” He releases his grip on your neck so you can lean back and settle completely over him, letting him press as deeply into you as he can go. When he rocks his hips now you bounce, the force knocking him into the very end of you. You close your eyes and try to keep from yelping as Ivar takes you to the very limit of what you can handle.

After a minute the intensity fades enough that you become aware of Hvitserk, still lying on the floor, still a bloody mess, still watching you. His smile is peaceful and he seems to be enjoying seeing you bounce. You close your eyes when you feel yourself starting to blush.

“Do you know, Ivar,” you hear Hvitserk’s voice drifting up from the floor, “that it will drive her absolutely wild if you bite her neck right now?”

Ivar doesn’t break his rhythm for a second. You open your eyes to see him raising his eyebrows at his brother’s impertinence and thinking up a response.

Suddenly Ivar’s arms are around your waist and he’s rolling your back onto the bed. His cock slips out of you as you reposition, but he’s pressing back in almost immediately as he covers your body with his own. He pulls on your legs until he’s got you just how he wants you, knees up and body spread wide open to him. “Hvitserk thinks he can instruct me,” Ivar says, glaring threateningly into your eyes, refusing to address the other man directly. “But there are things I know about you that I don’t imagine he has ever tried.”

Then Ivar starts fucking you again, staring intently into your eyes and watching you try and guess what he might be about to do next.

His cock is hitting that perfect spot at this angle, and you feel all the muscles in your lower body starting to seize up under the delicious pressure of an impending orgasm, one promising to be even bigger than the first.

Ivar’s eyes flash and he drags one hand slowly over your throat.

Fuck.

When he sees your eyes start to lose focus he knows you’re right on the edge. He grinds into you even deeper and wraps his fingers around your neck, palm pressing just hard enough that you feel the threat without actually losing your ability to breathe. You pull one last shaky breath in past his overwhelming grip, and then you’re lost.

This orgasm feels like drowning, the ecstasy bubbling up and around your body like you’re sinking into the depths of an ocean the color of Ivar’s eyes.

You have no idea what sound you’re making but you know you made one, because after Ivar groans his own shuddering orgasm into you, a single question floats up from Hvitserk on the floor beside you.

“What… Ivar what did you just do to her?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please hit that comment button, reviews are my main food supply (even if it's just a keyboard smash or angry yelling)


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